


Roses Are Blue, Violets Are Red

by Bnonymous



Category: Fire Emblem: Fuukasetsugetsu | Fire Emblem: Three Houses
Genre: An attempt at a fight scene was made by the author, Drabble, Enemies to Lovers, F/M, Ficlet, Hey IntSys please let them accidentally communicate during a duel, Obviosly they don't go through the whole process in like 200 words, References to Edelgard's past, Since sitting down and talking is clearly not an option, What-If, but it's a start, not really - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-02-07
Updated: 2020-02-07
Packaged: 2021-02-28 02:40:03
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 814
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22596424
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Bnonymous/pseuds/Bnonymous
Summary: In which the Flame Emperor dropped a dagger and Dimitri decided to confront a certain someone far earlier than the Holy Tomb.
Relationships: Dimitri Alexandre Blaiddyd/Edelgard von Hresvelg
Comments: 10
Kudos: 130





	Roses Are Blue, Violets Are Red

**Author's Note:**

> Originally written on discord for a shipping meme, with minimal editing because we die like Glenn. I swear I want to write a full-blown slowburn fusion of Crimson Flower and Azure Moon, but alas, no time or a plan. Here, my fellow Dimigards, have your scraps.

It's pathetic, trying to protect a secret only to reveal another. And perhaps she should be glad, the one she revealed was far less damning, far less dangerous than the one she tried to hide. And yet she felt more naked than if she'd spilled her damning heresy.

It starts like this. Her. Him. A dagger. The dagger she- that the Flame Emperor lost when she threw it at whoever was spying on her and her "uncle." The dagger that he somehow knew belonged to her and came to return it. While they were alone, Hubert off on errands, him blocking the exit, asking pointed questions.

Of all the things to give her away, why the dagger? She didn't exactly carry it out in the open. It felt almost like another secret, kept close to her heart, a reminder of the path she must cut and the boy whose face and name faded but whose wish kept her going down in the cold dungeons. 

She didn't think she ever used it in front of Dimitri. Maybe way back when they met the Professor, but it seemed like an odd thing to notice and remember with everything else going on. Yet he seemed absolutely certain the dagger was hers.

There was something cold yet burning in his eyes. She'd always thought him an earnest young man, infuriatingly so, inappropriately familiar with people (or perhaps just with her), naive but undoubtedly someone she'd regret sacrificing. A reminder that good people will fight and die for the old guard. Now? He looked like a wild beast sizing up a hunter or prey. Hardly any difference.

She had to fight. And kill him, before he alerts the Church (she's lucky he decided to confront her alone first), before _he_ kills _her_. She remembers joking about being able to fight all they want during the Battle of the Eagle and the Lion, yet in truth, the prospect never excited her.

And fight they do. The look in his eyes is mad, yet his movements are as swift and precise as ever. He did not bring his lance, but he had the sword always at his hip and she had only the dagger after he so gentlemanly returned it. But she will not fall here. Fighting Dimitri in close quarters is near suicide, but so is uprooting the social structure of Fòdlan _and_ she has fought more dangerous opponents. She is strong, but more importantly, she is swift and nimble and she fights dirty, Reason magic she knows he's weak to sparking at her fingetips.

There's a howl of pain and fury as her dark magic hits and he drops down, but just as she's about to use the opportunity to get out of close range, he uses his position on the ground to trip her. She goes down and her knife hand is twisted painfully behind her back.

And that's when it happens. Death doesn't come. The body on top of her is oddly still and the sword's blade doesn't move out of the corner of her vision. Just as she's about to use the opportunity to free herself, she feels a breeze on her back and freezes. The motion of his hand had torn her shirt. And behind it was- was-

She knows what he's seeing. The ugly, gnarling scars where those filthy rats had touched her, cut her open, sucked her dry and filled her up with that cursed blood. They held her down, much like this, and the dagger was out of her reach, they took it from her, the precious gift, and then they took her siblings and then they took and took and took-

A part of her realizes she is breathing heavily, shudderring, screaming, all three, she doesn't know, how humiliating, dying like a little guinea pig instead of going down as a traitor, a revolutionary, a heretic, a hero, a monster-

The weight has moved off her at some point. She has been moved, too, but barely felt it. There are hands on her back, cold metal like the scalpels but they're not cutting, they're rubbing circles and tracing. She's leaning on something soft and warm. It's Dimitri, but it doesn't feel like it is, it feels like something old, something young, like sweet buns and Faerghus snowfall and a gifted dagger.

Then, he says in an eerily quiet voice, but whose cold tone is not intended for her, not this time. "Who did this to you?" A question, low and dangerous, just like the answer she'd give if she were to tell the truth.

Her breathing steadies. She spots the dagger on the ground, she should stand and fight. There are lies on her tongue, she should hide. There is a logical course of action she must take and a foolish, disgustingly hopeful one she mustn't. But she is so tired.


End file.
